


Skybound

by OnlyStraightForJongup



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Vaguely Inspired By Portrait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 16:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14573448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyStraightForJongup/pseuds/OnlyStraightForJongup
Summary: Yongguk's writing in his favorite quiet place.  Youngjae joins him.





	Skybound

**Author's Note:**

> I never really post my short stuff on ao3, but bangjae needs more love so I figured why not

Yongguk’s adapted to working in loud places. On a college campus, quiet can be hard to come by, and his apartment’s only kinda an option, considering his housemates’ penchants for loud music. Yongguk’s not quite desperate enough to ruin their fun, but that doesn’t mean he wants to hear it.

He doesn’t mind doing most schoolwork with a stream of background noise, whether the sounds of the café or his own music, but writing’s different. To keep his train of thought, he needs a relaxing place or to repeat what he’s writing aloud a bunch of times.

The weird looks from talking to himself get old quick, as does the library in general, and so he goes to the only other place he can find peace.

It never takes much to convince him to go there. It’s nice, somewhere people don’t notice him, despite how he’s right in the middle of campus. 

Of course, Yongguk also happens to be about twenty feet in the air, sheltered from those on the ground.

Only one student has ever bothered to look up.

The tree’s got a nice mix of large and small branches, and it’s not too dense, so climbing it doesn’t feel like forcing his way through a thicket. The leaves are small and green; the bark a reddish color. Yongguk’s pretty sure it’s an invasive species, but it’s his favorite place on campus.

The branches form a small nook not too far up where he can sit comfortably, nestled in within the leaves. He’s paranoid, so he ties a knot from his backpack to a branch every time, worried it’ll fall despite how that’s never happened. As he breathes the scent of sap, pigeons fly rooftop to rooftop. 

Faraway, the school’s bell goes off. He calculates time in his head, lips forming a relieved smile when he recognizes it’s not one of the hours they play the school’s entire fight song on the bell. Five minutes of chiming is a little much when he wants quiet.

He pulls his notebook from his bag and starts to write. There’s no project in his head, only a jumble, and his words aren’t coherent yet, far from ready for other eyes. 

Yongguk sometimes enjoys this the most. Blank pages can be scary, but that’s only because they say a lot. Narrowing down their focus and defining it by writing without pause, even if he’s not sure what to say, changes it from everything to something manageable.

Yongguk writes about the man who looked up. 

It wasn’t on his own; Yongguk hadn’t noticed him leaning against the tree trunk, book in his hands, and so he’d dropped a twig that had broken from the larger branches. It struck the guy and stuck in his dark hair.

He turned and looked up, squinting against the sun until he spotted Yongguk in the branches.

“Oh!” He had actually exclaimed. 

“Sorry. I didn’t see you there.” Yongguk hadn’t been positive the guy even heard him. It had been a windy day, though warm enough the breeze felt balmy.

“Just don’t fall or anything. I won’t catch you.” He’d gone straight back to reading, and Yongguk delayed leaving for as long as he could, stealing glances down at the boy and his book. But eventually he had needed to go, so he’d started down.

Youngjae had stood as Yongguk fumbled down the lowest branches – why was getting down so much harder than getting up? – and Yongguk caught him smiling.

“How often are you up there? Do I just never notice?”

“Not too much,” Yongguk had said. “I only started a couple weeks ago.”

“It’s a good tree, isn’t it? Never considered climbing it.” Youngjae had given it an assessing look, his eyes curious and bright enough that Yongguk grew bold.

“Do you want to?”

He hadn’t, back then, but he had given Yongguk his name, and within a couple meetings, Yongguk convinced him to try.

In return, Youngjae convinced him to “hang out” sometime. Hanging out, as it turned out, quickly became going on a date.

Yongguk shakes his head to clear it and returns his thoughts to the paper in front of him. He’d scrawled down pieces of the story as it washed over his eyes, and what’s left on the paper are disconnected thoughts, now narrowed down from the expanse of blank he’d started with.

He’s never tried writing about Youngjae, and it’s such a classic romantic notion that he feels a little ridiculous, as though putting the story on paper is only a half-step away from proclaiming Youngjae’s his rock and the light in his life and writing something so cheesy it looks like a Valentine’s Day gag.

Yongguk pushes the mocking voice away. All he wants to do is tell the story, to explain how Youngjae’s confidence had faded as his feet left the ground, and how Yongguk had understood. 

The first time he’d climbed, all it had taken to convince him he’d made a horrible decision was the sway of a branch under his foot.

Yongguk loosely straddles the tree trunk, both feet balanced on lower branches despite how no weight is on them. A bird flits through the branches below him, something small and brown. It doesn’t seem to notice him.

The afternoon had brought a surprisingly clear sky with it. They’d needed a sunny day; the rainy spring had hit hard, and Yongguk had been thrilled to leave his apartment without an umbrella that morning.

The water had done its magic though. The grass is near fluorescent, purple deadnettle and yellow dandelions sporadic throughout it. Nearby magnolias had ignited into bloom, and the buttonbushes had opened their snowballs of white flowers, a sure, yet ironic, sign of the warm weather.

The air holds the scent of it all, spring mud and the must that promised growing plants and life. The sap has a soft, sweet smell to it, and Yongguk doesn’t regret getting it on his hands because it calms him.

Not long after he returns to writing, branches beneath him rustle. He startles, looking down only to smile as Youngjae climbs up. Yongguk never goes far up into the tree, and by now, Youngjae’s joined him enough that it only takes a minute for him to reach Yongguk.

Originally, it had taken him a week to trust Yongguk to climb much further than a branch or two up, but Youngjae hardly seems to notice the height now.

“Shoulda known you were up here,” Youngjae says. He huffs, fake-annoyed. “I spent like twenty minutes looking for you in the library.”

“You should’ve texted me.”

“I did. Check your phone sometime, will you?”

It isn’t a drama, so Youngjae can’t sit next to him or anything. Instead, he settles into a spot a couple feet below. Far off, a mockingbird starts its mimicry, releasing a couple bouts of each diverse phrase.

“What’re you working on?”

“Just writing.” He’s always vague about it at this stage, and Youngjae only nods, but his subject brings a blush to Yongguk’s cheeks. 

Youngjae sighs as he finds a comfortable position. Yongguk drops his free hand down without looking, and it thumps him on the head, harder than he meant. Youngjae squawks, offended. 

Yongguk only chuckles and pets his hair, his touch softer now that he’s located him. “Isn't it nice today?”

Youngjae hums in agreement and tilts his head up. “Sun’s bright. And there’s so many people out.” It’s a common lunchtime, and students stream over the paths below them. Their laughter and voices reach up, only a low murmur of the large sound traveling the distance.

It’s better that way. The sound’s often too much when on the ground. Here, it’s like it comes from behind a closed door, and the wind and rustling of branches take over. Youngjae shifts and grabs Yongguk’s hand in his. 

They don’t speak. Youngjae knows what drives Yongguk away from other people all too well, so he stays silent. Yongguk can’t help but glance down, smiling at the book Youngjae has secured in both hands. He’s gotten better at not dropping them.

Yongguk sketches a drawing in the corner of the page. It’s not really anyone in particular, only two vague silhouettes, lips barely apart. He runs his thumb over the ink once it dries, and his eyes wander to Youngjae again. Usually, the proximity of his subject only increases the amount he writes, but this time the words run dry.

He’s not sure what to say.

A group of kids passes directly under the tree, but no one bothers to look up.


End file.
